An Age To Bloom
by Hemmingweigh
Summary: Elsie Hughes gets to see the bright side of her birthday, with a little help from Charles Carson.


**_This will be my last Chelsie fanfic for a while - a standalone, with no further updates. Life calls and I suddenly have extra projects to get on with. But it's been so much fun writing for these guys. Older, unrequited love is just the sweetest, sweetest thing. Be warned it gets a bit T towards the end._ _This takes place where the third series left off, and makes a rough approximation of Elsie's age._**

**## CE ##**

It is her birthday. Elsie Hughes dips her hands into ice cold water, splashes it on her face and looks in the mirror. The same lines, a few more hairs that have turned grey. She tries not to grimace, tries not to think about the weight of that number. Sixty.

She pulls at the last buttons on her dress, tightening everything. The snug fit of the corset holds all of her in like packaged meat. She fingers the top of the dress, the tight neckline, bare. Everything bare and plain.

She gives a small sigh, accepting her lot as usual, and heads down the narrow staircase. She reaches the stone floor of the busy basement, where hall boys and kitchen maids are walking every which way. Clanking pots and Mrs. Patmore's irritated voice sound through the kitchen walls.

Elsie heads for solace, her sitting room, to write up her tradesman's orders for the day. She shuts the door behind her and lets out another sigh, this one long and tired. She stops. There's a small box on her desk, with a bow, about the size of a deck of cards.

She picks it up, inspects it, furrows her brow. She shrugs and pulls off the bow. She almost drops the box when she sees what's inside. A lady's brooch with intricate engravings of roses, her favourite flower.

"Oh my," she says, her face softening. She takes the brooch out with care, handling it delicately and admiring it in the light. She doesn't own many beautiful, or expensive things. She wonders who it could possibly be from.

There's a handwritten note underneath, and she pulls it out. It reads:

_"Mrs. Hughes, _

_A gift for you to mark this special occasion. _

_Regards, _

_Charles Carson."_

She tightens her lips and looks around. She closes the small box and and pockets it, along with the note, in her dress. She leaves the room.

Elsie knocks lightly on his door, then opens it. She gives him a knowing look, and walks towards his desk, her expression telling him he has something coming. He is sitting behind his ledgers, his face serious.

She stops in front of the desk, and pulls out the box.

"I found it this morning," she says, unable to fight the small smile that betrays her mock reproach.

He arches his brow. "Good."

"This must have cost you a great deal. It's very beautiful."

"No, no," he says, flapping her away with his hand. "I was more than happy to get it for you."

"I don't think anyone else in the house knows it's my birthday," she says, pausing. "It's kind of you to remember."

He grunts in acknowledgement. She has never done this before but she feels the compulsion. Within a second she is leaning over the desk, leaning down and giving him a soft kiss on his right cheek, closing her eyes. She straightens up, her smile shy. "Thank you," she says softly.

He stares at her, his mouth half open. She finds his reaction amusing, and she turns before he can see her grin. She leaves the room.

He puts his fingers to his cheek, lightly grazing the spot that felt her lips.

**## CE ## **

Breakfast is over and the staff are busy in their morning routine, the footmen cleaning the silver and the maids turning down the beds. There are guests, and Mrs. Patmore has made an early start to preparing lunch. Charles Carson holds something behind his back as he walks down the corridor, his expression stern. Alfred walks past and nods curtly. The footman tries to look at the object in Carson's hands, but the butler swiftly pulls it to his front as he goes past.

Carson gets to Mrs. Hughes' sitting room door, and hesitates. Just for a moment. Then he knocks.

"Yes?" She turns from her desk. The door opens and her face brightens when she sees him standing there. "Hello," she says.

"Morning." He turns to shut the door. "I almost forgot. I had one more thing. For your birthday." She notices the something behind his back. She tilts her head and gives him a puzzled look.

He pulls out a small bouquet of white roses, raising them in her direction. He gives a small shrug.

"Oh," she exclaims, getting out of her chair. She walks over and takes them from him, staring at the flowers and pulling them up to her face to take in their scent. She looks at Carson and her mouth tightens, wanting instinctively to chide him, to not let the moment get too tender. "This is rather sentimental for you isn't it?" she asks.

"Perhaps," he replies. "If I'm correct, you've reached an important number."

Her face darkens a little. "Sixty. I wish I wasn't. But I am, now."

"I'm still older than you," he says. "By a fair bit."

"That you are," she replies. She looks at the bouquet. Recognition crosses her face. "Ah, I see. Six roses, for six decades, is it?"

He closes his eyes and gives a single nod. "They say that sixty is the age you truly bloom."

"Oh now there's a thought," she says with a sideways glance. She ventures, briefly, to think this may be true. But not for her, surely? "None of the gardeners mind about…" She holds up the flowers.

"They were happy to oblige," he says.

"Well… Thank you, Mr. Carson."

She looks at him for a moment, contemplating, then gets in closer. She lifts up her chin, closing her eyes, and plants a small kiss once more on his cheek. This time her lips linger there for a few seconds more than before.

She starts to pull away, but lets her head remain close to his, so close they feel each other's breath, and they pause in that warmth for a while, some unknown force holding them there. His head bowed, eyes closed, he forgets himself and leans down and puts his lips to hers. She lifts her head to accept. It is small, and slow, their lips just barely touching. The silence in the room seems unbreakable.

They pull away at the same time, slowly, their eyes fluttering open and looking at one another as if waking up from a dream.

Elsie straightens her back, suddenly aware. She smooths down her dress and looks away. Carson clears his throat.

"I better find a vase for these. Put them in water," she says, flustered.

"Yes," Carson says. "Of course."

She nods and slips out of the room. He walks out too, heading in the other direction, his mind reeling.

**## CE ## **

It is evening. The sound of chattering stops abruptly as Mr. Carson enters the servants hall. Chairs scrape against the concrete floor and everyone stands to attention, including Mrs. Hughes. The butler bids them sit down with a wave of his hand. He takes his usual seat at the head of the table, with Elsie on his right. He steals a glance at her as she starts eating her soup. She catches his eye and they both look back down at their dinner, quickly.

"Looks like the money upstairs is doing its job," Thomas announces, looking at Bates and Anna. "His Lordship's getting a new car."

"Really?" says Anna. "Are they replacing one or just…"

"I don't know. It's just a new one," Thomas says. He thrives off gossiping, and sniping. "Beats me what they want to do with the old one."

"How do you know?" Bates ask.

"I heard his Lordship talking about it to one of the guests," Thomas says. "Before they left."

Carson might normally have put a dampener on this gossiping, told them it didn't matter how many cars the family had, that they used them well. But he couldn't think properly at the moment; couldn't get his mouth to form words. Underneath the table someone's foot was lightly stroking his leg.

It had startled him at first, because the very sensation here, in this room, was so new. But then he'd looked at Mrs. Hughes and caught the faint smile on her face. Seen how she refused to look him in the eye.

It seemed that she had hooked her foot under his right calf, and was now sliding it up and down. The manoeuvre was simple and ever so light, but it has stirred something within him. Something that makes it very hard to concentrate on what people are saying, let alone the food in front of him.

His breathing gets a little faster. He reaches for a glass of water.

"Maybe we'll get a new chauffeur," says Ivy the kitchen maid, who is picking up empty plates from around the large table.

"I bet you'd like that," Thomas smirks. "Young man in a chauffeur's uniform."

Ivy looks embarrassed. "_I'd_ like it," says Daisy, walking in. Ivy looks at her gratefully.

Elsie stops moving her foot for a moment as Ivy walks past to pick up her dish. The housekeeper looks over at Carson, and he meets her eye. He raises his eyebrows and purses his lips. She can't tell what that means, what he thinks of this. She decides to stop, but she moves her foot next to his, so that they are touching for the rest of the meal.

**## CE ## **

"Anna, go ahead and turn down the blue room," Mrs. Hughes says, as everyone stands from the dining table to carry out final tasks for the evening. The staff have had a late dinner, what with the gathering upstairs. Now that all the weekend guests have left, there is a great deal of clearing up to do.

"Do you want to keep the cushions in there?" Anna asks.

"No, take those down as well," says Elsie. "That guest room hardly ever gets used. We might as well use the cushions elsewhere."

Anna nods and heads upstairs.

Carson strides back into the hall and Elsie feels her heart flutter just at the sight of him.

"Ah, Mrs. Hughes," he says, his voice stern. "Might I have a word."

"Of course," she says, following him down the corridors towards his pantry.

Her mind churns. She has probably crossed a line. Her foot had anyway. She prepares for some berating, a squabble about improper behaviour.

He opens the door and she follows in behind him. He shuts it. They stand facing each other.

"Mrs. Hughes, I…." His voice trails off as he looks at her. Her eyes are wide, questioning, her face open.

He takes a step forward. He can't help himself. He bows, closes his eyes, and puts his lips to hers again. She is startled and stiffens at first, having expected something very different. Then she relaxes into the feel of his lips. She puts a hand to his chest and lets it slide up to hook around his neck. For the first time, he puts his hands on her waist. This is their second time now, kissing like this, on the same day, and they are already more adept, less afraid to press into one another.

He opens his mouth a little and she pulls away at the sensation. She looks around and smooths down her dress again. She wipes her mouth, looking at the floor.

"Ha," she says, nervously. "Well. Ah..."

Carson clears his throat, a deep rumbling sound. "Yes. That was- That is all."

"Right." She nods. Her eyes wider, she leaves the room.

Carson stands in the same spot for a few moments, catching his breath. He looks at the door and again, lightly touches his fingers to his mouth.

**## CE ## **

Upstairs, Mrs. Hughes watches Anna carry a pile of cushions out of the blue room and head for the staircase. She calls after her. "Once you've put that in the laundry room you can head off to bed. We're done for the day."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes."

She nods at her. "Good night, Anna."

"Night."

Elsie pokes her head back into the guest room. All the blankets have been taken away, including a few cushions, but it is still luxurious to look at, with all manner of other furnishings. She scans for any other items to remove, sees there are none, then shuts the door. She gets her key ready to lock it. There is a sound.

She looks up and sees his tall frame at the other end of the hallway. Her heart pounds in her chest. She pulls the key away. He walks slowly down the hallway, then is beside her.

"Everything all right?" he asks softly, looking around.

"Yes," she says. "We've just cleared out the last guest room." She nods at the door in front of them.

"Ah."

A small, roguish thought strikes her. One she would have never entertained before today. "Would you..." She bites her lip and looks away. She turns to him. "Would you, like to check it? Check that it's all ok."

He takes a breath, gives her an alarmed look. Then he straightens. "Yes," he says. "Yes. I probably… ought to do that."

"Right," she whispers.

She turns and opens the door, walking in, Carson close behind her. Every nerve in her body seems to tingle with anticipation.

He shuts the door, and stands there for a moment. "It might be a good idea to, ah... lock it."

Her eyes widen. "Yes." She fumbles for her key, places it in the keyhole, locks the door.

She can hardly think. She only wants to feel his warmth again, to feel his body against hers and his lips. She turns towards him and they embrace one another, with equal measures of force. He presses his lips to hers and they kiss passionately, their embrace urgent this time, confident in their privacy. She slides her arms around his neck, hugging herself to him, and he plants his hands on her waist before they find their way to her back. She lets out a soft moan and suddenly the room feels several degrees warmer.

His hands are finding her hair, her face. Her hands explore his chest, floating up to cheek and the light stubble there. All the while their eyes are shut, their mouths dancing with one another.

Soon enough they need to come up for air, and they stare at one another, taking deep breaths.

"Mrs. Hughes," says Carson. "The room seems to be in good order."

"Good," she says, staring up into his face. She detects a smile, a small smile. "I thought you'd think so." He leans down and kisses her again, very slowly this time, and tenderly.

She feels the need to have him closer. She finds, inexplicably, that she wants more of him, and so she takes a step forwards, pushing him towards the bed as they continue kissing.

He feels the back of his legs touch the mattress and he sits down, startled. She stands above him. It is a rare perspective for her, to look down at him like this. But she is struck by a delicious sense of power over this man, and she sees that he is just as beguiled by this as she is.

She lifts her chin, giving him a stern, commanding look. He looks up, his face full of wonder. She steps forward so that she is between his legs, takes his face in her hands, kisses him again. He reaches up and strokes her back, then her bottom.

That undoes her.

She pushes him back onto the bed, and grabs his bow tie, loosening it while kissing him harder. She decides she wants him on top of her again, and she rolls over, taking him with her. He seems shocked by all this, but he follows along, breathing heavily into her neck, making small baritone noises in her ear that unravel her senses.

She tugs at his belt, and trousers and he looks up at her, even more surprised than before.

"Do you…" he asks. She nods. Her eyes are almost pleading with him. Yes, despite her years she wants him very much.

"Do you?" she whispers.

He responds with a groan against her ear and a kiss to her neck. There is no time for disrobing. They are being led entirely by an urgent need, and so she tugs again at his trousers and they are soon around his ankles, and she pulls down her own undergarments, so that despite the rest of their clothes they can still have their union. She waits for a moment, desperate for him and unsure why, and then she feels him entering her and she gasps, looking around the ceiling above her, clutching at her hair momentarily.

It is a strange, new feeling after so long, but so very welcome within just a few moments, as he makes rhythmic movements against her. Although he wants her desperately, he takes it slow, kissing her every so often. He watches her expressions of agony at the pleasure he is giving her, and it gives him wave upon wave of strength. She moans softly, with each of his movements, and as they increase in speed her small sounds become higher in pitch. They close their eyes as they get close, and then reach the climax together, leaving her open-mouthed and him gasping at her neck.

He lies on her for a few moments, on his elbows, letting himself relax into the postscript of their love-making. He looks up and sees a calmness in her eyes, as if something inside her has been unlocked. Something in him has been unlocked that day, starting with a simple kiss to his cheek. He kisses her lightly, and rolls back onto the bed beside her. He sits up on the side and pulls his trousers back on. He helps her with her undergarments. Soon she is sitting next to him. The bed hardly looks disturbed.

He puts a hand on her leg and she covers it with her own, leaning into him. She rests her head on his shoulder, rubs his hand. They say nothing for a while.

She finally breaks the silence. "That was different."

Carson clears his throat. "Different in a good way, I hope."

"Oh yes," she says, pausing. "It's been full of surprises. This day. Good ones."

"Things will be different from now on."

She looks at him. "Who actually said that sixty is the age you 'bloom'?" she asks.

"I'll confess," Carson says. "I don't know. I made it up."

She laughs. "I suppose it's true," she says. "Isn't it."

"I suppose." He puts his arm around her waist and gives it a squeeze. He kisses her forehead, and she closes her eyes briefly. "Happy birthday."

They stay in the room, in silence for some time. Enjoying the moment; enjoying their ages, and each other.

**THE END**


End file.
